


Follow Your Lead (the Hesitation Waltz Remix)

by iberiandoctor (jehane)



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DC Extended Universe, DCU, DCU (Comics), Justice League - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Costumes, Identity Issues, M/M, Men Dancing, Pining, Remix, Spoilers, Teacher-Student, Timey-Wimey, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Waltzing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 13:10:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12133200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jehane/pseuds/iberiandoctor
Summary: Bruce can dance the famous Vanderbilt hobby-horse quadrille. Of course Clark's intrigued.





	Follow Your Lead (the Hesitation Waltz Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [navaan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/navaan/gifts).
  * Inspired by [listen to my happy tune](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7103872) by [navaan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/navaan/pseuds/navaan). 
  * In response to a prompt by [navaan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/navaan/pseuds/navaan) in the [remixrevivalmadness2017](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/remixrevivalmadness2017) collection. 



> Thank you to Prinzenhasserin for the speedy DCU beta!
> 
> [Beware spoilers for Batman #20.]

Clark knew, of course, the moment when Batman entered the Watchtower. 

There were many reasons for this awareness — chief of which was that Superman’s enhanced powers picked up everything. His preternatural senses, that could track a pebble in a meteor storm and pursue a single bird in flight, instantly noted the tell-tale whir that was the _Slideways_ firing up, and registered that familiar heartbeat as Batman stepped through the archway of the satellite.

As for the other reasons — which might be less about Superman and more to do with Clark himself — the less said about them the better.

There was no one else in the Watchtower save for him and Batman. His colleague approached, treading down the corridor in the same measured way as he strode into battle. Nothing unusual there.

But what wasn’t usual was the whistling sound: a low tune, melodic, and strangely dissonant to Clark’s ear. The sound increased in volume as it got closer, in time with Batman’s footsteps, until Clark realized it — most uncharacteristically, his colleague was whistling.

“You’re in a good mood,” he said, as the door slid open and Batman stepped into the conference room. 

Clark did a double take. Instead of Batman, it was Bruce Wayne — wearing a tailored black tuxedo from a designer whose name Clark didn’t recognize (although he could read the label from where it was stitched neatly into the underside of Bruce’s collar), a scarlet bow tie that circled the starched wing collar in a complicated knot, and black shoes so polished anyone could see their face in the glossy surfaces even without the benefit of super-sight. He was rather tunelessly whistling a melody in 3/4 time.

“I’m always in a good mood,” Bruce said, giving Clark a smile that was similarly patently false.

Clark snorted. Banter was easy. “Nice to see you got dressed up for me!”

“The Batman always gets dressed up for you; I’ve never known Superman to comment on it before.” Bruce ran a forefinger around the inside of his collar and then tugged his bow tie loose. Clark tried not to look as if he’d tracked the movement of Bruce’s finger as closely as if it was a pebble in a meteor storm. 

“Another fancy gala at Wayne Manor?”

“The Manson-Mingotts’ costume ball.” Bruce started to loosen the metal cufflinks that joined his starched shirt cuffs together. Clark could see from their molecular structure that the cufflinks were platinum, and quite old: likely antiques that belonged to Bruce’s father. “You haven’t seen a gala until you’ve seen Gotham debutantes dance the hobby-horse quadrille in actual horse costumes.”

This was a level of high-society sophistication that was Greek to a normal man, let alone an alien who’d grown up in a small Kansas town. Clark ventured, “Would I survive it?”

“You survived the Bizarro universe and the disco era, Clark. Society dancing shouldn’t pose that much of a risk.”

“Never tried it. Lana tried to teach me when she asked me to prom, but that was mostly me steering her around the dance floor and not stepping on her dress.” Clark winced at the memory: of bad 80s music, of drugstore perfume masking the smell of teenage hormones, of wiping his clammy hands on his trousers so he wouldn’t gross Lana out when he touched her, even though he knew he should be able to regulate his own sweat glands. “Definitely nothing like whatever this costume quadrille thing is.” 

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Same animal,” he said, and held up his arms in an open, squared-off posture like a traffic cop at a busy intersection, except with much more grace. “Look, I’ll show you.”

“You’re going to teach me to dance?” Clark was aware that his voice had slid a fraction of an octave up in pitch, the way it always did when he was nervous. Heck, he’d spent most of prom trying hard not to accidentally burst Lana’s eardrums.

“Yes. Come here,” Bruce said, smiling his real smile — faint and wry, a very different proposition from the plastic charm that beamed out of every society magazine. “Don’t be afraid, I won’t bite,” he added, archly, and that absolutely did it. Clark had courageously faced down the Anti-Monitor, and Maldor the Darklord, and an actual not-very-good Broadway musical about himself starring David Patrick Wilson, and he wasn’t going to let one Mr. Bruce Thomas Wayne get away with making fun of his lack of dancing skills, or otherwise throwing down the gauntlet to some— some _dance-off_. 

He took a deep breath, stiffened his resolve, drew himself to his full height, and took Bruce’s hand.

There was a brief awkward moment where Clark tried to fall in a half-body’s width away from Bruce, out of the vague notion that it was ungentlemanly to college-clutch one’s dance partner. Smirking faintly, Bruce put his arm around Clark, slid his big hand between Clark’s shoulder-blades, and palmed him close so they were chest to chest. Clark was forced to steady himself against Bruce’s shoulders like some fainting damsel. 

“Follow my lead,” Bruce said, quietly, and squared his shoulders and hips to Clark’s. He was a hair’s breadth shorter and every inch as broad; when he angled his head up to look Clark in the eye, Clark felt as if this otherwise climate-sealed satellite had suddenly gotten impossibly hotter.

“The basic waltz is a three step. Leader steps forward on _one_ , up on _two_ , falls on _three_. And we turn —” and Bruce broke out into the tuneless whistling again as he moved, uncannily light on his feet for such a big man. 

Bruce steered them around the conference room, using just his hands and posture and the directional cues of his hips. It was surprisingly easy for Clark to follow. He fought the urge to look at his own feet. Instead, he looked into the eyes of the man whom he’d fought a thousand fights alongside, albeit in a very different kind of dance. He’d thought himself familiar with each aspect of his friend’s physical form, could have sworn his super-senses were hyper-aware of every detail — but somehow he never realized Bruce’s eyes were this particular shade of gray.

Chest to chest and moving to this 3/4 beat, it was dangerously easy to forget their caped identities, even though the red cape and blue tights would always be hard to ignore, as were the armor and utility belt that Clark could feel Bruce wearing under the custom tuxedo. Clark could almost forget that his dance partner was a billionaire philanthropist born in the lap of luxury, used to debutantes fighting each other for the coveted spot on his dance card and his bed. 

If he closed his eyes, he could even imagine himself back at his high school prom in Smallville, and that the embrace which held him didn’t belong to his comrade-in-arms, the colleague who he’d spent years trying not to think about…

“…You’re a natural, Superman,” Bruce said, and Clark discovered he’d actually closed his eyes without realizing it; he opened them hurriedly to see the sly smile on his friend’s handsome face.

“Funny thing, Mr. Wayne, but that’s what they all say.”

“Let’s take this one level up,” and Bruce changed the rhythm — that is, it was the same rhythm as before, but there was a halt on the second beat, with Bruce dragging his left foot instead of stepping with it. Instinctively Clark followed him in this, as well — the strong step on the first beat, the hesitation on the second and then the follow-through on the third — letting Bruce take more of his weight as he yielded to the break in the tempo and leaned into the dance, as well as onto his dance partner.

“Was that meant to be a challenge?” Clark enquired. He wondered why he sounded slightly out of breath; it was ridiculous, because he was never out of breath. He hoped it wasn’t obvious to anyone without super-hearing.

Bruce changed his grip, and Clark found himself bending over backwards. There was a moment of disorientation, but not of concern — Bruce continued to hold on securely, would never let him fall. 

They hovered on that edge for an instant, and then Bruce set him back on his feet again.

Clark couldn’t look away. He was gratified to note that Bruce seemed himself to be breathing unsteadily, and that his forehead bore a faint sheen of perspiration. Well, this dance did seem quite challenging, even for someone in as prime physical condition as the Batman.

“It _was_ a challenge. Congratulations. Though I’d always expect Superman to rise to the occasion.” 

Clark resisted the temptation to rise to the bait, such as it was. “What’s this dance called?”

“It’s called the Hesitation Waltz.” A lock of Bruce’s hair had come loose when he’d dipped Clark, and it hung boyishly around Bruce’s eyes. “So named because of the deliberate pause in the romantic waltz step. It caused quite a stir when it was invented, apparently, because polite society doesn’t like teasing, or delayed seduction.” 

The dance was over, or at least Bruce had stopped dancing, but for some reason he didn’t appear to be in any rush to let Clark go. 

“Thought you were going to teach me the hobby-horse quadrille,” Clark pointed out.

“No point; nobody’s seriously danced that quadrille since 1883. On the other hand, you never know when a waltz’ll come in handy.”

Clark laughed despite himself. “Yeah, likely.”

There was a dangerous gleam in Bruce’s eyes that even Clark’s X-ray vision couldn’t quite read. “You never know. You might have to seduce a human to get out of a pinch sometime.”

Clark swallowed. He reached out to smooth the errant lock of Bruce’s hair back into place, and watched the touch register in Bruce’s eyes. “Knowledge never hurts,” he managed to say. 

“In that case, we should go again,” Bruce said, slowly. “This time with music, assuming we can get the computer to pipe some in.”

Clark took a deep breath and fought down the sudden, ridiculous urge to flee. What could he be afraid of? He was Superman, this man was his best friend, and they were alone in the Watchtower, with no other co-workers to watch and to make fun. 

He made himself shrug his shoulders instead. “Why not? It’s a slow night.”

**Author's Note:**

> Navaan, your Clark-teaches-Bruce-a-Kryptonian-love-song story was too adorable to resist remixing ;)
> 
> You'll see I tagged for all Superman fandoms in a timey-wimey nod to all the versions of Clark who had in fact survived the disco era, even though the Dawn-of-Justice Clark whom I think I channelled here might himself be too young for that? It seems once Bronze Age Clark [saved a bunch of people via disco dancing](https://io9.gizmodo.com/5942725/5942725/remember-when-superman-disarmed-a-bomb-by-disco-dancing), anyway, so this story just takes that premise a step further ;)
> 
> Details on Gilded Age quadrilles etc from [here](https://blog.mcny.org/2013/08/06/vanderbilt-ball-how-a-costume-ball-changed-new-york-elite-society/). C'mon, Gotham City and Wayne Manor are totally reminiscent of Gilded Age-era brownstones and the Vanderbuilt Mansion ;) The history of the Hesitation Waltz, plus a handy video clip tutorial, can be found [here](http://www.streetswing.com/histmain/z3hstion.htm); in this story, Clark and Bruce do the straight-up closed ballroom hold (couple facing each other, with body contact) version, not the open shadow-position variations (e.g. with one partner facing outwards and connected at the hands) shown at the beginning of the clip.
> 
> Clark doesn't much like fantastic musical [It's a Bird...It's a Plane...It's Superman](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/It%27s_a_Bird...It%27s_a_Plane...It%27s_Superman) :(
> 
> Bruce’s middle name is from [SPOILERS] [ Batman #20](https://www.bleedingcool.com/2017/04/05/lois-lanes-last-name-bruce-waynes-middle-name-revealed-today-spoilers/).


End file.
